Author Archives: Sana Rose

About Sana Rose

Poet, Writer, Mom, Homoeopathic Physician. From Kerala, India. More at

One Moment

It’s the rain stalling,
The clouds hovering,
The fog lingering…

It’s the taut string,
The frozen wing,
The unborn nestling.

It’s the dying crackles
Of a dying fire,
And unbreaking ice.

It’s a creaking floor
That hangs above,
Yet wouldn’t fall.

It’s a misstep missed
In the wrong way
On the wrong side.

It’s a stone placed
Over a paper leaf
Not trying to fly.

It’s the blue haze
Turning to grey
In pitch black.

It’s this one moment
Stretching long
Till the ends fade.

Till you fade…

– November 5th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015

For Just This Once

For just this once,
The world isn’t
About you.

For just this once,
The rain isn’t
About water;
The earth
Not about
The existent,
But the extinct.

For just this once,
The books aren’t
About the stories;
The words
Not about
The imagined,
But the unimaginable.

For just this once,
The cages aren’t
About holding back;
The penalties
Not about
The revealed,
But the concealed.

For just this once,
The shame isn’t
About naked truths;
The frustration
Not about
The unsaid,
But its futility.

For just this once,
The shell isn’t

– October 7th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015

Timeline of A Lifetime

Our yesterdays
are just footprints
others leave in
our hearts;

Our todays
are made upon
which ones
we choose to keep
and which we would
rather bury…

And the tomorrows
we still know not
as we tread along
our own fantasies.

The hourglass
would keep draining
till the last grain.

The only way
to stop time
would be again
not to flip it.

But, what about
the time outside
our minds?

What about
the dreaded,
unfailing senescence
that invades
the material
and exhausts
the immaterial?

What about…

– August 22nd, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015


Nothing –
Nothing happened
When my bare feet
Slipped over the pebbles,
Eroded smooth
By unyielding currents.

There was no spark
Of recognition,
No remembrance,
No sense of loss,
No desire, no pain.

Only the remnants
Of a palpable numbness
That I would attribute
To no one,
Because, nothing –
Nothing at all happened…

– August 13th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015

Denial is a deep psychological aspect. A defensive mechanism, a way of survival and the path to loss of identity. I didn’t realize the inspiration behind this small poem until after I published it on my fb page.
The credit goes to a novel that portrays the victim of physical domestic abuse at the hands of her husband. And ‘denial’ is her tool of survival. Every moment of being hurt is imagined to be not happening as it happens.

The Promised Oasis (Songs of Motherhood – 2)

Fear grips my heart

When your dimpled knuckles

Grip the window bars;

You are taking a glance at

The wonders outside.


And darling, that’s the first step ~

Let me hold you for now

While you pull yourself up

To your tiny-toed feet,

For, once you step out,

There’s no coming back.


Life runs forward, so will you;

That’s what I want for you,

A fearless proceeding.

And yet, here I am, nervously

Watching you try against gravity.


Here I am, cherishing the moment

You discovered raindrops

From nowhere, rippling puddles.

Here, I stay still, while your eyes

Wander in endless wonder,

Seeking passions beyond my arms.


But a nest is a nest, always;

A promise always a promise…

Home is where you would curl up

When the world hurts you;

Yes, that’s inevitable, but fret not ~

Here, I am yet again, arms open…


I am the oasis you’ll always find

In the endless deserts of life.


– May 26th, 2015

© Sana Rose 2015

The Puppet – 9

Once again,

The curtains have fallen.

I cannot see him –

The light ain’t dim –

It’s just occluded

The play concluded.


Yet, again he picks

Coloured bricks

Of wood, and beads,

To decorate seeds

Of his plans;

My damned chance.


Play I will

Until he pays the bill

For the stage

And the cage,

And the box of dust

And neglected lust.


Monologues will rain,

Words will remain

Untouched, unheard –

Life is a bird

With wooden wings

And worthless flings…


– June 1st, 2015

© Sana Rose 2015




The Puppet – 8

The journey of a chided heart continues…

I blink –
Thrice –
My wooden lids
Are heavier by nature;
My wooden eyes opaque.

The strings –
Faint –
Seem invisible;
No, the opacity has
Nothing to do with it.

A bruise –
Blue-green –
The reasons
Feel as thick as
Dreams doomed wooden.

I sweat –
Grip –
Waterlogged limbs
Move no more than
Your monotonous plans.

The end –
Heroic –
Surrendering quietly;
Hang on, the wooden box
Is not a bad home at all.

– May 12th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015

The Puppet – 7

You said

Dreams are not

As real as

My wooden body.

This is only

How far

The strings would



I wouldn’t have bothered,

Had it been not

For the handles…

Or honestly,

Had it been not

For the destiny

That I could not

Pick up anyway…


Love is a one-way street –

Yes, me the street,

Where you stomp through

The same way,

Once, twice,

Over and over again,

Because, dreams

Surpass wooden bodies.


© Sana Rose 2015



Ode to A Nestling

Little one…
Do not grow up too much,
Do not please get over
The need for my touch,
Do not, pray, outgrow
The home in my arms…

My baby…
The world outside feeds
On your ephemeral fears,
Yet, do not cling
Forever onto me,
Lest I feed you my fears…

My nestling…
Please never cease needing
To wrap your fingers
Around my drying palm,
Your subtle wings over
My aching, aging heart…

My daughter…
Fear not to light up
With that wondrous smile,
For, in the darkest hours,
I would want to find
My way through you.

After long, back to penning. I wouldn’t have known what this fear was or what to say about it the last time I wrote here. But today, I know it. Yes, I am talking about motherhood. Dedicated to Faiha, my little girl, who was a premature baby, early by one month, but a healthy 4 month old now.

January 5th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015

The Picture

Melting lollipop

I can see the distances growing, 
The childhood rhymes fading, 
The lollipop memories melting, 
The irreversible gluey drops 
That can’t be savoured nor 
Saved for another day… 

I can sense the gaping holes, 
The frozen icicles in souls, 
The rain-washed, lonely strolls, 
The one-sided page left behind, 
That can’t be imprinted nor 
Scribed for another age… 

I can see the fingers unwinding, 
The held hands departing, 
The dripping dreams returning, 
The new green leaves curling 
Back into their branches – 
A picture of non-existence… 

– May 15th, 2014
© Sana Rose 2014